


Satisfaction

by jupitardigs



Category: DCU, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans: The Judas Contract (2017)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Panic Attacks, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23211820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupitardigs/pseuds/jupitardigs
Summary: Slade Wilson wasn’t a man to settle for less. He didn’t deal with loss well. Of course, he knew how to pick his fights. He knew when to hunker down and avoid confrontation. He knew when to fight, defend, and run. But he never forgot a fight… never let a loss go.Slade would always get what he wanted. One way or another.-----Slade decides to take back what he lost so many years ago. However he doesn't need an apprentice anymore. So what will he do with this new addition to the Deathstroke empire?
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 97





	1. Collecting dust

Slade Wilson wasn’t a man to settle for less. He didn’t deal with loss well. Of course, he knew how to pick his fights. He knew when to hunker down and avoid confrontation. He knew when to fight, defend, and run. But he never forgot a fight… never let a loss go.

Slade would always get what he wanted. One way or another.

Robin was… _the one that got away_. He had escaped… Beaten Slade and escaped. Slade hadn’t been happy about it then, and he certainly wasn’t happy about it now. Like he said, he never forgot a fight… never let a loss go.

Slade had quickly recovered from the initial shock of the ordeal (but never the anger). He took on more apprentices, who promptly failed him, and got rid of them. He built his army, extended his influence, created an empire. He became an immense underground powerhouse, untouchable, drowning in wealth. But something still nagged at him. 

Robin had eventually left the Teen Titans and created a new name for himself: Nightwing. He put good use to that name. Taking down more than one influential villains, crashing drug trades, heists, and trafficking all the same. He was as alluring as the day he escaped from Slade’s grasp.

And Slade wanted him back.

Not as an apprentice, of course. He had no use for one anymore. He didn’t need someone to take over once his reign was over. Infact, he was quite content in the idea that his absence would send everything into utter chaos.

No… He didn’t need an apprentice. He _wanted_ a trophy. Something lavish to boast his power, something strong chained to his hip. Something that would send a message to others. Something to break, something to train… something like Nightwing.

So he went out and took it.

.--.-.-..-.-.--.-.

Nightwing stared at Slade with utter hatred in his eyes. He was huddled on the floor, arms chained behind his back, trembling despite himself. Slade smiled calmly under his mask. Of course his dearest little bird was still scared of him. As he should be. 

“I truly hope this won’t get in the way of our professional relationship, _Nightwing_.” He paced forwards, nodding in approval at the scene before him.

“Fuck you.” Nightwing spit. “Didn’t get your ass kicked enough last time?”

“Oh, plenty.” Slade growled. “Not something I look back upon fondly.” He straightened. “But there’s no use living in the past. Let’s look at the _now_ because I still can’t tell if I’m pleased or pissed at how easy it was to get you here, little bird.”

Nightwing glanced subtly towards the door, his mind racing.

It was wonderful to watch.

“Planning on leaving already?” Slade took a step forward, resulting in a scramble backwards from Nightwing. “Oh dear…” He hummed. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I’m not an idiot, Slade. I don’t know what you want from me, but I do know it isn’t good.” He began to pull his legs under his body to get the anchor he needed to jump up and fight.

Slade sighed, planted one foot firmly on the ground and spun the other towards Nightwing’s head. There was an audibly **thunk** as his foot connected with the boy’s skull. The force of the kick sent Nightwing sprawling.

“Neither am I, kid. As much as I’d love to see you struggle, I’m not looking for an audition from you. Not this time.”

Slade watched as Nightwing wiped his bloody nose on his shoulder and slowly sat up. “Is that all you got, old man?” He jeered. He never knew when to quit.

Slade was almost glad that this was his response. He cracked his neck as he approached and kneeled down to Nightwing’s eye level. “Of course not, little bird.” 

Slade grabbed the boy’s head and slammed it onto the ground, holding it there with ease. Nightwing let out a groan of pain.

“That was for fun.” Slade let go. “Money, power, influence, information… I’ve ‘got’ a lot of things. That’s something that hasn’t changed. What’s great about that though, is that I can always get more. Did that answer your question, _Richard_.”

Nightwing whipped his head up to meet his gaze, eyes wide with panic.

“Oh, sorry.” Slade couldn’t hide the smile in his voice. “That was rude of me. We’re not at the point of formilarites yet, are we?

“How do you…”

He chuckled. “I know a lot more than just that, boy. Your last name, where you were born, what happened to your parents… And yes…” He said, reading the boy’s expression. “Even the _Big Man's_ secret.”

Nightwing dropped his head, trembling once again.

“You can’t… you-”

“Oh, sweet bird… I can. I will.” He stood. “I’m a simple man. I see something I want and I take it. But you had to go and escape.” Slade turned and began to walk away. “I hope you’ve had fun running around, because believe it, you're done with that now. You’ve been quite the devil in regards to business.”

-.-.-..--.-.-.-.-.

It had taken months and many different methods of _persuasion_ before Richard was willing to comply. Hours upon hours - days even - of white torture. Sedatives for complacency. The starving, beatings, and then gentle, comforting touches. It didn’t take long to confuse his mind. To break his spirit. To numb him to the point that obeying Slade’s orders wasn’t the worst thing that would happen. 

Nightwing was mostly docile now, sitting beside him silently, head leaning on his knee as he sat at his desk. This is the position Slade preferred his little bird to stay in. He rather enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing a fellow villain gaze in shock at Nightwing’s figure knelt submissively at his feet while he combed his fingers through his hair. The thrill of calling out to him and watching him approach, cautiously but compliantly. The enjoyment of dealing with Nightwings ‘tantrums’ by beating him senseless.

It was addicting. Perfect. _Natural_ … 

Which made what came next all the more surprising.

-.-.-..--.-..-.-.-

Everything had been going so smoothly. Slade had Nightwing completely under his thumb. The outbursts lessened, the hesitance almost nonexistent. Just an obedient _dog_ , following orders from it’s master.

But then, something changed.

Slade had been working at his desk with Nightwing at his side, per usual. He received a message on his communicator, noting him of a disturbance in the delivery of payment and stood to attend to business.

“Nightwing.”

He said it passively, walking towards the door without looking back. It was a summoning call. For Nightwing to follow after him.

But...

There was no shuffle as Nightwing got to his feet. There was no sound of bare feet against concrete as Nightwing obediently tailed him.

Confused but still calm, he turned around. Nightwing was still slumped against the chair, on his knees, head down.

“Nightwing.”

No response.

“Nightwing, come.” Slade tone changing seemed to do the trick.

The head of dark hair jerked up, and looked around, dazed. His eyes met Slades and he stared for a moment before standing jerkily to his feet and stumbling over to Slade’s side.

“Was that defiance, Richard?” Slade questioned. He grabbed the boy’s chin and yanked his face towards his own.

But Slade was surprised for a moment.

All the color was drained from Nightwing's face, his brow crumpled in confusion, his eyes darting back and forth to avoid Slade’s eyes. A slight head shake was all he got in response.

Of course, Slade took it in stride. It had to have been defiance, which was unacceptable. The moment he dragged Nightwing back to the isolation chamber, that seemed to wake him up from his trance. Slade ignored the screams, pleas, and sobs as Nightwing begged… but obedience was a necessity.

The door shut, and Slade let the incident slip his mind for the next couple hours.

However, it wasn’t just a moment of defiance.

Again, Slade was working in his armory, assembling new weapons. organizing his collection, and recording data. Nightwing sat under the table, arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees.

He had been working for several hours and took a moment to sit back. His fingers were sore from dealing with fiddly parts on the new machines and he clenched and unclenched his fists to stretch them out.

“Nightwing.” Slade called out, deciding that a warm head on his knee was what he needed.

No… reply… 

Slade didn’t call again, as he was immediately struck with anger. Richard hadn’t had an outburst in a long time, so why now.

In one fell swoop, he had grabbed a fistfull of Nightwing’s hair and yanked him out from under the table, throwing him into the center of the room. 

To his immediate surprise, Nightwing made no attempt to curl up and hide from Slade’s coming abuse. He didn’t beg, apologize, cry… 

Slade approached slowly, reading for a fight. He grabbed Nightwings shoulder and pushed it back, exposing that-

That same pale face, confused expression, deadpan eyes. Nightwing lay numbly on the floor, his breathing slow and faint. He looked completely dead, if not for a lazy blink every now and then.

In frustration and doubt, Slade shook him a bit, knocked him around, but still had no reaction.

He stood, paced to his desk and back, before grabbing a communicator from his belt.

-.-.-.-.---.-.-.-.-.

Wintergreen hovered over Richard's bed, checking temperature and pulse. He placed a damp cloth on the sleeping boys forehead, before backing off and approaching Slade quietly.

“Well.” The old man sighed. “You broke him. If that’s what you wanted to hear.”

Slade was quiet for a moment. “What’s wrong with him?”

Wintergreen shrugged. “Beats me. It's like his mind just quit. There’s no cognitive thoughts going on up there. I’ve never seen anything like it. You said this is the longest he’s been in this state?”

“... Yes. It’s the second time...”

A laugh. “It seems your precious trophy is collecting dust, Wilson.” Wintergreen scoffed. “If I had the audacity to say that you were worried, I would-”

“I’m not worried.” Slade snapped. He wasn’t. Truly. But definetly unsettled.

Wintergreen sighed. “I’ve known you for too long…” He patted Slade on the shoulder as he passed. “I’ll do a little research. See what I can dig up. But you might really have to accept a loss. If this is the second time, it won’t be the last. And who knows when that will happen?”


	2. Dire Consequences

Nightwing was now in critical condition. It only had to happen three more times before he had stopped responding altogether. He was in a completely comatose state, unconscious and unmoving for over 72 hours. 

It was frustrating, to say the least. Slade did not enjoy the feeling of helplessness. The feeling of failure. He had felt it before. A long time ago.

Wintergreen’s research didn’t come up with anything.

“Not Stockholm, not a panic attack, not mania. The closest thing I could find is some sort of dissociation, but it’s too broad to pinpoint anything specific. I couldn’t even tell you why with certainty.” Wintergreen reported as he changed Nightwing's IV. “The coma was just so unpredicted, I really have no idea.” He paused. “I can tell you what I think you should do, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I’m not-.”

“He’s gonna die, Wilson.” Wintergreen's face was grim as he looked up. “And then you’ll have lost for _real_. Can you deal with that? Truly?” 

Slade was silent, watching Nightwing’s sleeping face. He was horribly pale, dark bags under his eyes, cheeks sunken in. He already looked dead.

“Leave.” Slade ordered.

Wintergreen huffed in frustration. “Really Wilson? You’re just going to-”

“LEAVE.” 

The older gentlemen’s expression changed from anger to shock to disappointment. He looked at Nightwing for a moment, before turning and walking out the door. Slade half hoped he would argue back. Hope that his friend could force some sense into his head.

He sighed, pressing his thumb and forefinger on the bride of his nose. 

“You always find a way. Don’t you, Robin…” He remembered the defiance, the fear, the hatred, that young Robin emanated. The way he could never completely submit, even with his friends lives on the line. Such a soul… such a spirit…

Slade leaned over Nightwing’s sleeping body, placing a hand softly on his neck. “I could kill you now… Before your own body does…” Slade spoke in a whisper, as if any louder would wake him. “And then I’d finally win… wouldn’t I…”

He tightened his grip, pushed down a little harder, gritting his teeth. Nightwing's eyes didn’t flash open. His mouth didn’t start screaming. His body didn’t fight.

_Who was he kidding…_

Slade cursed and let go, swiping his hands through his frayed hair.

This wasn’t Nightwing anymore. It was an empty shell. Wherever Nightwing was, he was far from the surface, evading Slade’s grasp yet again. He wouldn’t be winning.

Slade knew what he had to do. But it wasn’t going to make it any less difficult.

-..--.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_Dick was... peaceful... The place he now floated in was cold and strange. Quiet and dark. But the loneliness was familiar._

_It reminded him of laying in bed at the Wayne Manor, late at night, alone in the dark, missing his mother's warm hands and his father's kind eyes... Wishing Bruce would come and comfort him..._

_Yeah... The loneliness was peaceful... The ache was comforting... The cold was soothing..._

_So why did he still feel like something was missing?_

Who knows how many times he had slipped out of consciousness. Slade always had a way of waking him up eventually. Loud, violent pain. It shot through his quiet abyss like a gunshot, sucked him to the surface again. Where the light was too bright... The sounds to harsh... The feelings... to strong...

But his mind folded back in on itself everytime, crashing over him like a dark blanket, pulling him further and further inside of himself...

Finally... he was uninterrupted. Safe. Once again, a small boy laying on a bed that was too big in a house that was too big, with a with a hole in his chest that seemed un-fillable.

He closed his eyes and fell into a lonely sleep.

-.--.-.-..--

"-chard..? Richard? Dick, can you hear me?"

_Shit._

Dick groaned in discomfort as he was dragged back to the surface. His ears roared with static, body tensing, eyes squeezed shut, as he returned. Adrenaline began to pump through his veins.

Slade had figured out a way to get him back. 

"He's waking up!" Someone called. 

A deep voice.

A lonely voice.

" _Bruce..._?" He managed. His jaw was stiff, the space in his mouth unfamiliar and strange. He didn't know when the last time he spoke was.

"I'm here." The blinding light dimmed. A shadow hovered over his line of sight, large, powerful, empty.

He started to cry.

-..-.-.--.-..-

The team had received a message once night from someone anonymous, noting them of Dick's whereabouts. Gotham City Hospital. After months of searching, it seemed to good to be true. But when they arrived, there was no mistake. 

No one knew who admitted him. The nurses working that night said that it was a tall man wearing a cap and a long coat. He only said that the boy was dying and disappeared before anyone could ask questions.

Dick was already in a coma when he arrived, but his body, which had been receiving the right nutrients, was in okay condition. 

Three days past with Brace, Jason, and Tim as reoccurring visitors (others, like Cass, Kate, and Damian stopped in randomly) before he woke up. It was emotional to say the least. 

Dick recovered quickly, on the outside, but something always felt off. 

He knew very well that he had fallen off a dangerous cliff while in Slade's hold. He was under the water for far to long. And it stuck with him. There were moments his body didn't respond just right. Moments where he felt how unstable his control of his own body was. But it didn't slow him down. He wouldn't let it. Not again.

-.-..-.--.

Dick was out on patrol alone when he realized he was being followed. It had been a year since the incident and his brother's insisted on sticking close to him still. So of course he had assumed, at first, that this was them. But, the footsteps were too heavy.

He held his breath and slowed. His entire body tingled with nervous energy, ready to fight or flee at any moment.

"You finally noticed..." A voice said. It's tone wasn't mocking. Rather, matter-o-fact.

"I was wondering when you'd show up again." Dick tried to hide the fear in his voice. "Thought maybe something had happened. Not that I wouldn't mind if something did..."

Slade chuckled as he walked out of the shadows. "I don't know where you get your energy from, little bird." He approached slowly. "But I certainly am glad you're feeling better."

Something about that statement... 

"For the life of me, Richard. I can't figure out what went wrong. We had such a great dynamic, wouldn't you say? Everything was so... perfect..."

It sounded so desperate.

Slade was infront of him now, staring down through the single eye of his mask, a hand slowly closing in around Dick's neck. "Whatever went wrong, I can figure out a way past it. I can-"

It clicked.

"You lost." 

Slade froze.

"You couldn't deal with having something out of your control. Having your plans screwed up. Losing something. I'm that something!" Dick felt the tension in his body melt away. "But then... I found a way to escape again." He grabbed Slade's wrist and stared him dead in the eye. "You don't know why. You don't know how to stop it. You wanted my mind, but I hid it from you..."

It made so much sense.

Slade tightened his grip, pulled a gun from it's holster and pressed it against Dick's forehead. "I have your mind right where I need it! A trophy doesn't have to be alive." His voice came out in a deep growl.

Dick was calm now. The blanket began to pull him under. "Then do it... Do what you couldn't do all those years ago. Lose. Forever." His body numbed... "If I'm alive, you still have a chance to find away to keep me." His vision darkened. "But if I don't put up a fight... if I die..."   
.  
.  
.  
Dick awoke to Jason shaking his shoulder roughly, calling his name. 

Slade was gone.

\--------------------------------------------------  
 **Ok. In all honesty, weak ending on my part. I hope some people enjoy it, but I really had to idea where I wanted to go with it.**

**It's fine...**

**It's fiiiiinnnnneeee....**

**This will be the fourth(?) story I've written on here. I've been having a lot of fun and wanted to try something new: Experimenting with writing chapters. I still haven't gotten used to how everything works. Like, is this how I do an authors note? Or do I have to do a disclaimer... I don't know...**

**But I've gotten a lot of support! And it feels good being able to share my weird ideas with other people.**

**Soooo thanks!**

**I'm on a very long, very strong, Slade/Robin streak. Robin has always been my favorite DC hero. All of them (yes, even Damian, the little devil). I used to watched the old Teen Titans show and fell in love with the dynamic between him and Slade. Reading all the other amazing fanfictions on this website were nothing short of absolute inspiration.**

**I finally gave myself a chance to work on short stories, vent some feelings, write some shitty fanfiction.**

**It's great.**

**I'm really glad I get to share my writing with yalls out there. Whoever you are.**

**Muah.**


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